The Agenda
by Neuro-chip-angel
Summary: Anacrothe is a careless little cretin, unconcerned with the real issues, such as housekeeping. One of the circle is compromised by his chemical ineptitude. Will this member become a hideous outcast, whilst very disillusioned? We'll see. Chap 2 is up.
1. A Faithful Dilemma

**Chapter One: A Faithful Dilemma **

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Anacrothe was a natural born coward, a man cursed with the inborn knowledge of practicalities. He could smell dangers decrepit touch, a mere hour before the sordid event. However this sense abandoned the Alchemist when it came to lesser duties, such as housekeeping, as Moebius was soon to discover.

The Time Streamers visit, concerned Anacrothes recent obsession with certain dangerous elements. The local peasants were slightly miffed with the forever constant rebuilding of their villages, after each major experiment. This annoyed Moebius, as these individuals were quite the source of cheap labor, rebellions were always taxing.

Anacrothe: Ah Moebius, you scheming little man, what brings thee to my domain?

As craven went, the Alchemist was quite the arrogant dim witted individual. On many an occasion, Mortanius pointed this fact out. Especially during certain events that transpired after each circle meeting. The man failed to realize the complex interconnections of adult relationships. Especially the one involving Aerial and her beloved Nupraptor. The phrase 'third wheel' escaped the twerps mind, despite the Mentalists constant glares. The after effects of hoisting The Balance Guardian over one shoulder and legging his cargo to the nearest exist, whilst asking 'care for a ride home?', seemed to aggravate all those concerned. Often this led to a certain Alchemist forgetting his place in society, for a brief moment, whilst assuming the chicken stance and clucking absent mindedly down the streets of Coorhagen.

Moebius: Spare me your insolence, child. You know very well, why, I am here. Those little experiments, are causing more problems than is needed, right now.

Anacrothe: Let me guess, I happen to be interfering in another of those sordid, twisted schemes, you have decided to enact? Do tell, I assure you, I am quite trustworthy.

Moebius, managed to conceal his blatant disgust towards the Guardian of States, expertly. Anacrothe was many things, however, 'the vault of humanities secrets' fell quite short of this expansive list. The man thrived on snippets of information, taking mere seconds to destroy brittle alliances between foes, with a slight wag of the tongue. The Streamer, found this an inept tactic, at least he himself threw such vital information in his enemies faces, when they were appropriately handcuffed, chained and bolted to the floor. If the mans centuries of experience had taught the fellow anything, it was to avoid people quite willing to throw puppies, on mass, down a ravine.

Moebius: As assuredly as that fact remains, Anacrothe, nothing is in the works. For the time being, I have one simple request.

Anacrothe: Request? Since when has the Time Streamer, ever, requested anything?

The rightful Gods agent sighed, as per usual the Alchemist was being difficult. This fact remained an expectancy when dealing with such a loathsome fiend.

Moebius: Very well, think of it as a demand. I must stress the importance of this matter, after all, Mortanius is in full agreement.

This of course was a lie, The Necromancer considered the settlement as slightly less than useless. However their unique talents were ready to set the tone of future events. The statement also seemed to capture Anacrothes full attention.

Anacrothe: Very well then.

Moebius: Till we next meet, dear friend.

The Streamer turned and quickly headed towards the nearest exist, with a degree of hast. A desire for escapism from the Alchemists pit, sadly led to a certain old mans downfall. The level in which the pair occupied was situated over a large vat containing a strange liquid waste, currently under modification. Well in truth, that's what Anacrothe enjoyed telling various awed guests to create an atmosphere of admiration. The pool held remnants from remaining socks, garments and other chemicals involved in the washing process. Moebius being the gifted lucky sort, fell into this mixture, instead of hitting the ground, after slipping on a large three sided disc. Apparently somebody had been in this region earlier looking for a Guardian or the strange object (which is clearly capable of traveling through the vastness of time by itself). Whatever the reason, this led to one sticky Streamer covered in a compelling green ooze. Anacrothe peered over the edge, just in time to catch a glimpse of a lone hand floating above a mass of black socklings.

Anacrothe: Well, wasn't that unfortunate? Pity, looks like a new Guardian will grace our circle, ha!

With that little outburst, our lover of the color yellow, gracefully left the room.

-----

The Elder God moved a tentacle silently into the world. Something seemed wrong, he felt it deep within the earths crust. A single thought burst into his mind, Jimmy.

-----

Vorador was in many ways, a simple individual, he was quite easily satisfied with the delicate touch of three buxom beauties. Yet, the vampire seemed deeply troubled this evening, despite Mary's constant desire to butter the man up in exotic outfits. This particular bride was his fifth favorite wench, she sported wonderful talents that could only be justified with the cruel manhandling of a mop. Sick perversions aside, this green count, was concerned. Moebius's band of hunters had stopped patrolling the south side of the swamp, for the past ten days. This could only equate to one logical possibility, a large scale attack would soon occur. Though, this was not the mans millenia for the obvious concurrences to transpire. Suddenly, a strange unfamiliar sight burst into Voradors personal chamber.

Tom: My liege, oh... beg my pardon madame, this is urgent! The north wall has been breached.

The vampire lord couldn't quite place his finger on it, something seemed off about this creature. It didn't fit into the rooms surroundings, as the other leggy tarts aspired to. In fact, this person, lovingly cradled a rake, whilst its outfit sported this years dirt. The chest seemed flat, missing a pair of preservers, that he oh so enjoyed. There were no well defined curves and a pair of large black boots covered the tootsies. Then Vorador, realized the unthinkable, a man was within his abode.

Vorador: What in the abyss, foul imbecile, is one such as yourself, doing within these humble walls?

Tom took a brief moment to look around, humble definitely failed to define the mansions decadent materialistic atmosphere.

Tom: Master, we have guests, of the loathsome variety...they destroyed the petunias, round back!

Vorador: Good lord, the petunias, you say? Well, my dear (repulsive shiver) man, whatever shall we do?

Tom: Sire, I cant help but wonder, was that tone, sarcastic?

Vorador rolled his eyes and contemplated if this display of moronic aptitude was an inherent trait in all his fledglings. Then again, his current level of knowledge on the 'children of the nights' intelligence came from the female offspring. Often these delightful harpies were slightly more occupied with kissing their masters backside. Often a swift tongue was not required in such an interesting endeavor.

Vorador: Pray tell, what precisely did you see?

Tom: I-

There was a faint thud in the background as the main bedrooms large wooden doors gracefully fell to the floor. Two muscle laden lads brandishing steal pikes entered through the opening, as a figure lurched behind them. He was gaunt, silent and vaguely familiar.

Mysterious stranger: Gentlemen, welcome to the future.

-----


	2. Consequences

**Chapter Two: Consequences**

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Vorador shifted uneasily, watching the stranger from behind two rather exaggerated pikes, conveniently held onto by a pair of identically freakish deviants. If the mere sight of Tom could so readily offend the vampire, than these two well endowed lads, were pressing his patience to the utmost limits.

Vorador: What brings a creature such as yourself, within my kingdom, little one?

The stranger seemed outwardly amused, cocking his head to one side, whilst absent mindedly tapping his foot on the ground in a strained rhythmic beat. There was an outward confidence that mocked the fained persona's of all presently concerned. The young man seemed to have just acquired two decades of existence and was wrapped in a concealing ominous robe. There was an abundant cheekiness that suggested an awkward illusion implying a deeper evil. Yet, the youth sported fine blond hair, that neatly descended into half curls upon his shoulders. Vorador would have believed the man an interesting addition to his maintenance staff, if present company wasn't eyeing off a certain extremity that suited the green count, attached. In an awkward mark of defiance, the vampire pulled his robes collar just up to those enormous ears, covering that jaded neck.

Stranger: Ah Vorador, I had such plans, quaint though they were, things have changed from this... abstract perspective.

There was a distinct uncomfortable air in the atmosphere, as Vorador noticed the unnerving proximity several of his brides were enacting. They seemed somewhat attached to the bulging viking like figures that had casually tore down the bedrooms hulking doorway. The Stranger had adopted a keen interest in the slightly quivering figure of Tom.

The young man was once considered the bravest amongst many in his homeland. That was one of the many reasons the Sarafan Keep had originally adopted the lad. However most acquisitions contain their flaws, especially when the bravest of the brave from that settlement, were already signed up, leaving a slightly aloof child behind to fend off predators and such. It's safe to say the critical battle that defined Tom's career lay in his fight against a Hylden called Kreal'Gar'Nith the small. Whatever precedent was set, the Keep always required able-bodied men, to weed their future frontiers.

Stranger: Tell me, what is your name, child?

Tom: Tom, your grace.

The gardener believed it best to compliment those, that quite assuredly would soon place certain extremities on a rather large pike.

Stranger: Are you happy, here, Tom?

Vorador didn't like where this was going, his beloved vixens were eyeing off the invading parties soldiers and the gardener seemed hypnotized by this deadly cobra.

Tom: Well sir, slightly more than The Keep.

Stranger: Ah, this fiend obviously tore you from the righteous path that the Sarafan assuredly created for you.

Vorador: Nonsense, I showed him what true power, wielded by dark gods could achieve!

Tom: Yes, a lifetime of gardening, cold nights and suicidal romps with buckets of water for the blasted daffodils!

Stranger: There is more in this harsh world, Tom. Limitless possibilities.

The vampire enjoyed the sounds of this creatures banter, surely a new tyrant would be a nice change from the old. After all, Vorador barely acknowledged the male children he sired. The paternal neglect clearly issued a toll on Toms conscience, these past few centuries. Picking flowers, weeding and dicing with constant death. Shelter was a luxury in the swamplands, rain poured constantly enforcing the tired cliché of rampant evil that the forest symbolized. His master barely listened to the league of gardeners, houseboys and kitchen hands complaints. A revolution was required and this human seemed to have all the answers.

Tom: Very well, if you can deliver the goods, the staff is behind you, sir!

The stranger nodded and vaguely smiled at Vorador, than hinted to his entourage to escort the vampire to a nicer place.

-----

Anacrothe was slightly ill at ease, all knew what The Necromancer was capable of in fits of foul rage. At the moment, Mortanius was pacing his study whilst hissing foul obscenities towards The Alchemist.

Mortanius: Oh, I know you, Anacrothe. Craven logic rules those minuscule thoughts within that tedious little mind. I can see it now, The Guardian of States stands aside for a mere second, then the world falls into oblivion!

Anacrothe decided that direct eye contact as this precise time, hardly enlisted the desire to continue on living, so he ogled the carpeting. This however was an ill conceived cognition, as the contents below hardly instilled a sense of calm. Pieces of rotting flesh slowly slid down the skull of what The Guardian hoped wasn't Mortanius's two o'clock. The man then decided to chose his words carefully.

Anacrothe: Surely, a new Guardian will be summon-

Mortanius: (snapping) And whom will train this child? You? Don't even try to lighten your predicament with such a foolish brand of humor. Besides, it no longer matters.

With a flick of the wrist The Guardian of Death, revealed a small pool of water in the center of the chamber. It was housed in a distinctly ceremonial bowel and echoed a similar structure to the one that lay in the Sarafan Keep. The water shimmered and revealed the pillars, now containing the spirit Aerial.

Mortanius: The Pillar of Time is rotten to the core! Nupraptors madness has effected us all and Moebius was removed from the game earlier than expected. This will have dire consequences, my dear, bumbling fool!

Despite Anacrothes better judgment, his concentration lay elsewhere. After all, the pool managed to project the Pillar of Time and a rather buxom beauties endowments at the same moment. Such consequences of ill conceived actions were present to this day, Nupraptor had ensured this. With a startled squawk, the Alchemist fell to the floor and started to hunt for grain. At the same time he made territorial clucking noises to a large coat rack, Mortanius had acquired from Willendorf. The Necromancer sighed, often he wondered why the pillars chose such idiots. Then he realized, maybe it's not his to reason why, but to relocate strange Alchemists into conveniently placed chicken coups.

-----

Earlier that day:

The vat was rather large and for some very inconvenient reason there was no ladder for escape. This displeased a floating inhabited robe, desperate to be removed from the murky green liquid. It was not so much the fall, but the humiliation of his predicament that ate away at the mans soul. That scheming little bastard surely, intended such an outcome. Nevertheless, what use could the child foresee in prolonging his life?

-----

Authors Note: From the Blood Omen perspective, once a guardian is destroyed the pillars will be cleansed/ purified. However in this fic the nature of Moebius's release defines the Pillar of Times state.


	3. The NA, Aka Necromancers Anonymous

**Chapter Three: The N.A., Aka Necromancers Anonymous**

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Mortanius felt ill at ease, there were a possible number of reasons for this state, his sudden addition of tail being one of these. The horns were always an easy set of extremities to cover, even the ones on his sidearms, however that small sentient wagging thing fell out of his domain of self control.

At meetings the other circle members were always quite curious towards the Necromancers strange stare of grimace, as unknown to them, the man casually sat down on that devious little appendage. It was the one irritating thing, that Hash'ak'gik had control over, that and the color of the mans eyeballs. This was combated through The Guardian of Deaths proclamation that he indeed was a drunk and suffering from the after effects of last nights party. Hence why, his hood was cast over his eyes to create a nice dark wall against the light. The other guardians dared not to make jest of this problem, Malek was a silent testament to an annoyed Necromancers wrath. Not to mention the growing collection of late milk boys souls forever trapped in their own personal sock shells nailed to the Sarafan Keeps entrance. Yes, each were wise enough not to point out the mans, eccentricities.

The circle had gathered that night to discuss, certain events. Nupraptor's departure, the disappearance of Moebius and that strapping young fellow called Kain (you know, Mary of Coorhagen's, boy), these were all hot topics. Malek was off fighting the fiend, leaving Bane, Mortanius, Dejoule and Azimuth to discuss these events. Anacrothe conveniently had other plans, his silent motivation for fixing his little mistake fell under the heading 'all must be well or Morty shall define the term 'there are worse things than death, buddy''. The Guardians sat adjacent one another around a slightly decayed wooden table in Mortanius's keep. All politely eyed their goblets, trying to ensure no stray maggot would be embracing their sophisticated pallets.

Azimuth: So dear Mortanius, why pray, did you call us here?

Bane: Yes, I was busy and where is Anacrothe?

Mortanius glared at the trio as threatening as possible from under his hood. What they got instead was a disdainful sneer attached to an abstract goatee.

Mortanius: Lets just say, Anacrothe is...occupied.

Everyone sat quietly for a moment, soaking in and envisioning the possible contexts of that sinister statement. Maybe another shiny tin man would soon be joining the circle? After all, they knew the Necromancers limited patience for the Alchemists activities.

Dejoule: Not to mention the distinct absence of Moebius, one hopes our scheming old man hasn't been slain by that horrid little fledgling.

Mortanius: I assure you all, that Moebius is quite capable of taking care of himself.

Bane: Who cares, honestly? He schemes and plots, this is not the first time, The Streamer left without operating through the 'right' channels.

Mortanius: Each Guardian is free to pursue their own flights of fancy. However, that all rests on their ability to deal with the 'consequences'.

The gathering cringed for a brief second, then tried to work out the mans level of seriousness by peering at the unconcealed goatee. Azimuth could swear the mans skin looked a tad greener than per usual. Then again, what is a healthy glow, for Death's own agent?

Mortanius: My reasons for bringing you here are my own. I just happen to care about the state of your domains. With this fledglings new threat and the possible war involving The Nemesis...

Mortanius knew this was a stretch, after all The petty affairs of the Nosgothians politics rarely concerned the circle. After all, whomever wins would still pay homage to the sorcerers. The Necromancer merely desired to know if The Time Streamer was up to his old tricks. Even beyond the grave, the man was a slimy creature. Yet, the Necromancer had failed to sense the fiend. It was possible that Moebius knew a way to avoid his peering glance into the netherworld, after all the pair had known each other a long time. The Streamer could appear in the circles territories, in any shape or form.

Bane: Bah, our territories are the same as ever.

Azimuth: Yes, what ales your mind, Necromancer?

Mortanius: Just mere concern and my 'state' is none of your belated concern.

Azimuth fell silent, a little taken aback by this statement. After all the pair harbored their own dark misguided past. One full of shocking horrors that almost measured up to the after effects of the accidental viewing of a different dimensions version of Moebius. Azimuth cringed at the mere thought, her initial plan was to bring in a new age of debauchery and dominance through a special multi-verse entity. Sadly during the transmutation curse involving a flower and the misplacement of Moebius's staff his alternate self was raised. Sadly for all concerned that old man held the title of Time Streaker.

For now, the remaining circle members felt it best to give the Guardian of Death a wide berth. Zombie raiding parties working at the behest of a certain annoyed individual, was not a welcome foreseeable future, the others delighted in, especially in their respective territories.

-----

Tom was an easy going vampire by nature, maybe a little dramatic during certain instances, however this only transpired upon his children's demise. The creature saw all elements of nature as his creation, due to his awe-inspiring position as an immortal Gardiner. Flowers, trees, shrubs, weeds and anything remotely green, became his offspring. His personal view was as such, screw Bane, he was the true Guardian of Nature.

However this position now took a back seat to his current duties. The Stranger needed a clerk, somebody with an innate knowledge of Voradors domain. All the other male vampires had gone into hiding or had been staked by the intruders and the female ones were too busy ogling the bodyguards. This left the ever so lucky Tom, who found his new master the lesser of two evils, the other choice being an orderly beheading.

So, for the time being Tom could do nothing but wait and watch. The cool night air snatched a lone leaf in an updraft and it slowly headed towards the mansions south wing. A light flickered through the main window revealing a silhouette of female forms surrounding what appeared to be their new master.

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Delay: Writing shall re-commence on this tale around late June- after my exams and a quick replay of all the LOK games ;)


End file.
